


Celestial Navigation

by dogmatix, norcumi



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Gargoyles (TV), Leverage, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1, Sword Art Online
Genre: Adult Language, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Crack, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, GFY, Gen, Goa'uld Jedi, Not Canon Compliant, as Deadpool is wont to do, for anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-08-16 10:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8097997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: A series of VERY NON-CANON silly crossovers between the Star To Steer By universe and other things.





	1. The Gate Job

**Author's Note:**

> Norcumi: Last year I decided to celebrate my birthday by writing crack. Fluffy, doesn't matter to continuity CRACK. Since I'm horrible at coming up with ideas, I asked the tumbls what universes I should cross over with [Star To Steer By](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3514793) (...anyone wandering in, you might want to read a chapter or three of that before diving in here -- things are strange?).
> 
> Today Lynati informed me that Stargate and Leverage are considered to be in the same universe. 
> 
> I am not drunk enough for this, nor do I think I could handle crossing the streams that much. HOWEVER, it is a delightful opportunity to finally post these silly drabbles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Norcumi having only seen a handful of Leverage episodes from the first season, and Dogmatix having seen less than that, this was a bit of fluff that we speculated HOW it could come about, though we could never quite decide where it would go if we were to write it for real (we are not, to Norcumi's knowledge, writing it for reals. )

Parker thinks it’s funny by the second guy in long johns. She has to fight to keep down a grin and a comment, because soldiers, they’re supposed to be soldiers and everyone has an Eliot face with the grim look. Not giggles.

Long johns.

She giggles anyways.

* * *

Eliot thinks something stinks by the third guy, this one in regular camo. “Twins, I get,” he bitches across the radio. “Army’s gotta be family business for someone. But triplets?”

* * *

Hardison gets nervous when they find the fourth guy. “Whoa, okay, no. Just no. Something really stinks here. I don’t care what color dude’s hair is, there are _not_ identical quadruplets working on a secret Air Force Base under SETI. Some shit is weird here.”

* * *

That guy turns around, and Parker leans forward, fascinated at how his eyes go from brown to blue. She has no idea what kind of tech that could be, but _she wants it_. With luck, Hardison will have had some as of three years ago, got bored, and all she has to do is scrounge it up.

Blondie squints at them, then crosses his arms and gives them The Look. It’s a Nate Look. It’s the “Children, shut the hell up” look.

“Who do you think you are, and what are you doing here?”

* * *

Fuck. He doesn’t know how they’ve been made, but Eliot doesn’t have _time_ for this. He makes a cold lunge, ready to knock this joker and his plastic Halloween costume out.

He’s always been the fastest guy in the room.

This guy dodges like _Eliot_ is the slowest idiot around.

It’s a new, and bad sensation, to have someone whirl around him, and a part of Eliot is squeaking in fucking glee because this is a new and different challenge. For the first time in he’s not sure how long, he’s almost evenly matched.

Fuck.

Outmatched. Bastard has him in a neat little hold, just short of breaking things.

Then Parker’s there, taser jabbing for a gap in the armor plates.

“Oh that is not fair!” Eliot growls as the blond guy gestures, and Parker is suddenly lifted and shoved back, splayed against the wall by something unseen.

“Perhaps,” the man agrees, one hand still outstretched to keep Parker pinned. She looks like she doesn’t know if she should be fascinated, or pissed as hell. Not a good combo.

The worst part is, there should be no way this guy could keep Eliot pinned in the meantime. That eye change – god damn. “Are you even human?”

The smile back at him is cold. “From a certain perspective, yes.”

* * *

“Certain perspective _this,_ jackass,” Hardison growls across the radio, and alarms start going crazy throughout the complex.


	2. Star to Steer by, the MCU edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request from MoreCivilizedAge, placed vaguely between the Avengers movie and Winter Soldier (and ignoring Agents of SHIELD).

Jane Foster gets called in as the resident expert with aliens and science and making a good impression on first contacts.

Thor goes along with because Jane.

Steve goes along with because he might have made one too many rude comments during the last TV interview, and SHIELD wants him to lay low for a little bit until yet another rant about Don’t Ask Don’t Tell being the stupidest damn thing ever blows over.

He’s pretty sure Coulson knows that it won’t, and asking him to stop is pointless because he never will, but everyone pretends that Cap taking a time out from the media circus is a solution so he can’t even sulk too much.

They end up in a base under a mountain, which isn’t messing with his head, nope, not at all. He slips away from a beautifully manufactured tour, because when Captain America is gesturing awkwardly for the bathroom, many people look even _more_ awkward than he does, give a vague wave, and then look away quick as they can.

Heroes of legend aren’t supposed to use the john, or something.

Once he’s away from the tour group, things get easier. Everyone assumes that because he’s Captain America, he’s wandering around for a good reason, and he must be cleared for everything. Coulson is going to give him so much shit, but Coulson also pretended to be dead for too damn long to not get some shit in return.

Steve finally stumbles over a workout room, full of the noise of practice combat, friendly roughhousing, and a funny echo effect that makes everyone sound the same. He walks in, prepared for the innocent “aw shucks” routine only to have the words die on his tongue as almost two dozen identical eyes turn his way. There is exactly one guy in the room who looks different from the others; a black fella with some kind of symbol on his forehead and really expressive eyebrows.

All the rest have dark skin, most have dark hair, and all of them have the same. Damn. Face.

“Okay,” Steve admits. “This is a new one.”

* * *

Jack could never decide which part was the worst: losing Captain America on a tour; finding Captain America roughhousing with Teal’c and the clones; or the fact that the apparent god of thunder Thor (no relation) lit up like a Christmas tree and demanded in on playtime when they tracked Cap down.


	3. Glitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearthdragon requested something with Sword Art Online, which Norcumi had to research. Thankfully, Dogmatix was familiar enough with the show to make things make sense!

It is a quiet glade, dimly lit by the setting sun. Several wild boars roam about in set patterns, snuffling amongst the grass.

The air almost seems to hush for a moment, then there is the electric sound of a fighter charging. A blurring hum of energy slices through the boar’s flank, revealing the electronic architecture underneath the beast’s illusion of skin.

The boar flickers and disappears, leaving behind a box of statistics, gold and experience. The nearest boar turns to face the dark haired man standing from his lunge, glowing sword rising to a protective position.

There’s another zing, and the charging boar gets beaten away by another fighter. This one is taller, with longer messy hair and no goatee. His clothes are dark, not the pale blue and white the first one wears.

Between the two leapfrogging through the group of boars, the beasts are gone in moments.

The shorter man straightens, thumbing his sword’s hilt so that the glimmering blue blade disappears. “Beam saber,” he quotes with a snort, taking several tries to hook the hilt on his belt. “Swear to all the gods, Ani, if we had a way out, I’d just be the most amused player here.”

“Caving and being a worrywart instead?” Ani asks, shaking his head and brushing strands of hair out of his face with a wry expression.

Fives gives him a look. “One of us has to.”

Anakin shrugs, strolling over with a feline pace and an almost smug look. “Maybe, but one of us is enjoying having our very own set of arms and legs.” He pounces, glomming onto the clone with a brilliant smile. “We’re already breaking the system, showing up as two players instead of one, and those stupid mirrors didn’t do anything to me.”

Fives rolls his eyes and pats Anakin when it’s clear he’s not being let go of any time soon. “No Force,” he reminds his Jedi. “No magic.”

“ _Why_ do you always play the casters?”

“Maybe some of us enjoy having our very own Force abilities.” Fives hesitates, then shrugs. “And fireballs.”

Anakin snickers and straightens. “Gonna get a spare bucket and print “FIREBALL!” right across the front of it, just for you.”

“Cherry red? You know what I like.”

They grin at each other, fierce and amused and more than a little pissed off. Technically, Ani is still in Fives’ head. Technically, they’re still sitting around, under a stupid damned VR helmet, and not risking their lives in a VR MMO that kinda seems to want to kill them.

“Hammond’s gonna have some damn nexu when we don’t show up for the next meeting.”

Ani shrugs again. “If we’re lucky? Then Obi-Wan will be yelling at us, we’ll both be able to hear him in our heads, and we can figure a different way out. Barring that?” He grins, the look feral and still weirdly hot to Fives, who _still_ can’t get over his Jedi having such a different face.

And being tall. That doesn’t surprise him nearly as much, given the mental feel of Anakin, but being readily and regularly enveloped by the idiot remains a new and odd experience.

“Barring that, we fight our way out.”

Fives nods, readying his lightsaber – right, right, in game it’s a ‘photon saber’ or ‘beam saber’ and just about the most ridiculous name ever. “Not like we haven’t done that before.”


	4. No Walls On This Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Norcumi never thought she’d be asking Dogmatix if she minds having Deadpool ship Obi/Rex. Crack ahoy!

It’s their third day of leave – technically – and Rex is strolling around DC. He still can’t decide if he likes this busy kind of city, or if all the greenery creeps him out a little. All the monuments are nice, though.

Obi-Wan has insisted on staying in the background, quiet and content to finally get a vacation. He’s also enjoying the hell out of all the museums and monuments and goggling over the way the locals enshrine their past, not to mention what to make of what they consider to be important.

They turn a corner in a park – at least, Rex thinks it’s a park. There’s enough trees for it, anyways. There’s a man seated on a bench, and wearing the weirdest getup Rex has seen yet. Most of it is an undersuit in black and red, with a hood to match. Two swords stick up over his shoulders, and a utility belt goes with the bandoliers. The pink and white polkadot backpack he shoves something into is…different.

The man is practically bouncing in place as he pulls out a small book and stylus. “Oh my god, you two are my _favorite_ Obi/Rex!” he gushes, either ignoring or not noticing the way they tense up.

# _How–?_ # Obi-Wan doesn’t have a chance to finish the question as the objects are shoved into their face.

“Can I have your autograph? Or your baby, either is good! Both of you, please, and I’m dying for a selfie with the eye thing going on! Make it out to Wade!”

Rex takes the book automatically, not sure what to make of anything that’s happening. In the Force, there’s one hell of a weird feel to the man’s mind. It’s fractured in a way neither of them has ever seen before, but there’s no hostility of any kind.

More than a touch of psychosis, but no hostility.

There’s also a feel Obi-Wan _is_ familiar with, which is bubbling glee from a fan. The Negotiator had to sign more things than he’d ever wanted to think about over the years of the war, and he’d also been trying desperately to stay out of the spotlight.

So Rex rolls with Kenobi’s experience, scribbling down “Thanks Wade” and his name before Obi-Wan takes over with just as much bemusement. They’re not sure if this is some prank – Jack might, but this is rather outlandish even for him – but whoever this madman is, he is somehow in the loop so they might as well see how it plays out.

Kenobi actually takes the time to write a note of appreciation as the madman preps a phone. # _You do realize he probably can’t read Aurebesh?_ #

# _All the more reason to make sure it’s a note of significance._ #

# _You could just be writing out a requisition form, and we both know you can do that in your sleep._ # He’s playing devil’s advocate now, but the whole thing has gone from weird to absurd as the man has indeed taken several photos of them. They’re dressed like the locals, there’s nothing that makes them stand out – he has no idea who this guy is or why he’s gushing, but at least it doesn’t seem to be hostile.

“Wade” certainly seems to either understand Aurebesh, or not care, because when they give the book and stylus back the body language is almost terrifying in how delighted the man is. Several “selfies” later – some with Rex in charge of the body on the man’s breathless insistence – and they’re being _hugged_.

“You two are the _best_.” He gives an extra little squeeze, then pulls back with a grin that’s so wide it’s making the mask distort. “Now remember, if you go dimension hopping, you want to use the name “Venge,” go for glowy gold eyes, and Flamethrower’s number one!” At their confused nod of absolute incomprehension, he scruffles their head and scoops up his bag. “Thanks, Force be with you, and happy New Year!”

The silence almost rings as he lopes out of sight, and Obi-Wan finally manages a weak throat-clearing sound. # _Well._ #

# _What the hell._ # Rex can’t get his head around it. # _What just happened?_ #

# _I have no idea, but let’s blame Jack for it anyways._ #

That, at least, makes sense.


	5. Stranger in a Strange Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OwlFlight requested a Gargoyles crossover. XD

Padmé likes the city. New York reminds her of Coruscant, though the scale is…limited. It’s also much friendlier in a way she can both grasp and appreciate, without the sometimes overbearing way the Naboo can get up into one’s business.

It’s not carelessness that leads to her being shoved into an alley. It’s a combination of too much politeness towards what she thought was a naturally crowded situation, and confidence in her skills.

Five young humans, armed or not, are within her abilities. If all else fails, she even has a permit for her blaster – though she suspects there might be a bit of outcry over the vibroblades.

She’s handling herself just fine, keeping her foes tangled up with each other while she’s taking down her chosen target, when there’s a funny whooshing noise. Used to aerial transport, she’s ducking and rolling away instinctively after a quick punch to the throat. Her target is down. Without streetlights, it’s hard to make out the details of the three beings that swooped in and are taking down three of her attackers. They’re fast, strong, and dressed minimally in loincloths.

That…seems less usual than she’d expect from this world.

The last mugger is raising a pistol with shaking hands, and she can’t trust that he’ll miss either his comrades or her rescuers. Padmé is firing well before he does, and the man crumples to the ground.

The largest of her rescuers is spinning with an outraged cry. He seems to be blue, with fins near – as? – his ears. “Hey! You didn’t need to do that! We have this under control!” Anguish is clear in his voice, and the glowing white eyes lend a furious cast to his face.

He does not compare with a cranky Senator from Kashyyyk. It’s easy to remain calm. “He’ll be fine. It was set on stun.”

The large young man stares at her, blank and distraught, as the red one with a beak moves to check her target. His whole body sags with relief, the glow dimming from his eyes as he looks over. “She’s right. He’s just taking a nap, Broadway.”

“…Stun?” the third asks cautiously, eyeballing her cautiously before crossing his arms. “What kind of a gun _is_ that?”

Having done her civic duty, Padmé returns the skeptical look. “Are you the authorities? Because I thought there were only humans on this planet.”

The young men share a three way look that reads “oh shit” loud and clear.

The one with the beak sighs, resignation thick in his voice. “Guess we’d better get Goliath.”


	6. Venge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alyyks wanted to cross the streams even _further_ with Flamethrower's [Re-Entry](http://archiveofourown.org/series/10129). This is our version of him, as from either [Balance](http://archiveofourown.org/series/131172) or [Möbius](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1514531). Venge appears with Flamethrower's gracious permission!

Given his luck lately, Venge isn’t too surprised that when the chaos of the Force storm dissipates, he’s surrounded by human soldiers, any number of weapons aimed at him. New universe, new problems.

On the plus side – hopefully – is that he almost immediately spots Rex standing to the side, a funny frown on his face. It’s a gut punch no matter what. This is Rex almost as Venge remembers him from the war. Phase II armor – no helmet – and a lightsaber at his side, which is odd.

On the down side, he can feel in the Force that Rex’s signature is somehow blurred, twined with something…strange. It’s as if Venge somehow had claimed the man, leaving his own Force signature threaded through his in a way that isn’t a bond, but is something…other.

Also, blue eyes. They work for Rex, but it’s strange.

Then on the beyond surreal side is the way Rex crosses his arms and _glares_ at him. The clone opens his mouth, and the voice coming out is somehow _Obi-Wan’s_. “Every time I think we’ve seen all the fun a Sith can do. What do you want? Are you here with a message, or just to mock us?”

Well. Venge mimics his posture, slow enough that the somewhat twitchy humans around him won’t fire. “Nothing says I cannot do both.”

Rex’s eyes go wide, then glow a little, the blue brightening into something that rivals Venge’s own amber. The clone recoils a bit, confusion and astonishment moving across his face in a way that Venge recognizes, even though it _is not Rex_.

New record for headaches from a new universe. What the hells.

“How did you fall?” Obi-Wan whispers, and Venge snarls back at him.

“None of your damned business. How the fuck do you look like Rex?”

Obi-Wan blinks at him for a moment, then a funny noise comes from him. “This is impossible.” Before Venge can chose from the many, many sarcastic retorts, the Jedi is shaking his head. “I think we need to talk face to face.” There’s a bizarre hilarity bubbling underneath everything, until it’s overtaken by concern.

Then Rex’s eyes go to their normal brown. “Sir, no, I have to protest this on the strongest possible terms!” He doesn’t look frantic – Rex doesn’t do frantic – but it’s right up there with the looks that accompany Anakin, tall buildings, and 'flying lessons.’ He pauses as if someone is having an extensive mental communication with him, then he gives one hell of an eyeroll. “Sir –!” He breaks off with a frustrated sigh and glares at Venge. “If you do _one_ thing out of line, you will _not_ live to regret it.”

Somehow, he keeps his eyeroll minimal as he makes get-on-with-it gestures.

Rex glares at him some more, protective indignation warring with something…else. Amusement? Certainty? Fuckall, if Rex went and had a dissociative split Venge does not have the fucking patience, background, or inclination to do anything other than set the fucker responsible on fire.

Which he will be happy to do if someone is possessing the man’s body.

A little bit more of a glare, then Rex reaches up towards his mouth. Venge recoils a bit in spite of himself as something crawls forward, and he is disturbingly reminded of Geonosis.

The thing emerging from Rex is larger than a brainworm, and would not be able to enter anywhere _but_ the mouth, unless it makes its own entrance, which would have other problems. It’s orange, with tan fins, bright blue eyes, and fangs.

It is radiating cautious amusement, and its Force signature is even more impossible.

Rex’s is somewhat more normal, given dimensional differences.

The…snake…eel…thing tilts its head to the side and calmly looks back at Venge, fins rippling a little before it lets out a small noise he can only call “weh.”

The staring contest is broken by Anakin’s voice as the feel of his padawan charges down the corridor, Ahsoka close at his heels. Their Force signatures are muddied as well, and he can only guess what that means.

“Do I even want to know why things feel – What the hells?”

What the hells indeed. Fives is facing him, with dark blue eyes and Anakin’s lightsaber at his hip. Echo is behind him, a set of lightsabers strapped in front of blaster pistols – also with the wrong color eyes.

Venge recognizes those lightsabers, all of them.

“Echo” looks between Venge and the orange thing. “Master, do I even want to know why you’re outside with a Sith around?” It’s not Echo’s voice coming out of his mouth, but Ahsoka’s. Oh gods, Venge has such a headache.

Anakin is far less sanguine. “A Sith that feels like you,” he growls, not looking away from Venge. “What kind of a game is this? Who are you!”

The incongruity of Anakin’s voice and body language with Fives’ form is not helping the bizarreness of the situation. “Venge,” he snaps back. “And believe me, this is no game, and if I _could_ leave, I most certainly would!”

The orange thing “wehs” at Rex, who lifts it back to his mouth. A few of the unknown humans in green uniforms cringe back as if they find it as distasteful and grotesque as Venge does, but Anakin, Ahsoka, and Rex feel relieved.

“Anakin, stand down.” It is so. Fucking. _Weird_ to be hearing his own voice, with the more normal cadence and tones, coming from Rex. “I think…You recall Jack’s stories about different dimensions?”

This apparently means something to Anakin. He gapes at Venge, eyes wide. “You’re _joking_.” He sounds almost horrified, while fascinated.

“No, I really do think this might be a human version of me.”

As compared to a snake, eel version of him. Fucking Sith hells in a speeder.

“A _Sith_ human version of you,” Anakin declares flatly.

Venge rolls his eyes, and looks over at the short-haired blond woman who seems to be the local in charge. “Please tell me there’s someplace to get drunk around here.” He eyes the three clones-who-are-not. “Very, very drunk.”

Obi-Wan snickers a little. “Actually, most Jedi don’t drink. It interferes with our connections with our hosts.”

He gives a flat stare right back. “Haven’t you been following along? I’m no Jedi.”


	7. Star Crossed 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was only a one in four chance that the snake would pick Sam, but in or out of uniform, when it came to goa’uld, SG-1 seemed to have a bullseye painted on their backs. Or their necks, as it were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not Star to Steer By, but it is a take on the same scenario (I have been known to spawn several plunnies for the same scenario, and this one wanted to play). It won't be nearly as long as StSB, but it's interesting to see what kind of changes occur if Sam is the first to meet a Jedi (and in a slightly different setup), and how that plays out with the rest of SG1. - dogmatix
> 
> Star Crossed is set sometime before Apophis tries to zap Earth at the end of Season1, and it's definitely set before SG1 meets the Tok'ra in Season2

Samantha Carter was having a horrible day. On a scale of one to ten, this rated a solid ‘one,’ and she was willing to bet that the day could get worse.

The gritty stone block she’d been tied to smelled of dust and sun.  They were in a large indoor…hall, of some kind, which meant the blocks had been moved recently. She was tied to the damn thing face-down, which made her stomach drop into her toes, because that wasn't the normal position most folks used to tie people to altars. The only reason for it that she could come up with that made sense was that it gave certain squirmy friends - and she had her commanding officer to thank for having that fantastic phrase in her vocabulary - easy access to the back of a new host’s neck.

She tried to tell herself she was just being paranoid.  Her captors couldn’t possibly know that she was tau’ri, or part of SG-1 - when the Jaffa had attacked, her team had been doing some diplomatting. That had involved being in local dress for some kind of festival that Daniel had been very excited about, though he hadn’t been too clear why or what it was for.

It looked like Daniel’s estimate of the periodic slave raids had been off by a few weeks.

She eyed the area around her. The metallic hall was bare and reasonably sized, barely twenty meters across. Some kind of cargo hold? Whatever was going on here, it had the earmarks of an improvised solution.

Altogether, there were four of them tied to the stone altars. She could lift her head just enough to get a look up and down the row of offerings. The other three were natives of PX-3341, two males and a female, all fairly young, all fairly attractive. Prime host material.

The door slid open, and a contingent of Jaffa strode in, along with an arrogant man wearing more gold than was practical. A goa’uld, but not one she recognized. Hopefully, that meant he didn’t recognize her, either.

The Jaffa in the lead was holding a small container, which he set on the floor. He pressed something and stepped back as the lid lifted with a pneumatic hiss as the sides opened. That released a small wave of water and a wriggly form that gave a distinctive squeal.

Sometimes she hated being right. The day was now officially worse.

The goa’uld spoke to the released snake. Sam, along with everyone in the Stargate Program, had taken an intensive crash course in the goa’uld language. The on-site personnel had at best a patchy grip on it, but all gate teams were required to be something approaching fluent. Sam was more ‘approaching’ than ‘fluent’, but she knew enough to get that the hosted goa’uld was ordering the snake to pick a host.

Her heartbeat sped up as Apophis’ name entered the conversation. There was only a one in four chance that the snake would pick her, but in or out of uniform, when it came to goa’uld, SG-1 seemed to have a bullseye painted on their backs. Or their necks, as it were.

If this one picked her, randomly or not, that might be a great deal of information at Apophis’ disposal that SGC and Earth absolutely could not afford. She kept her breathing steady, desperately hoping for an opening, an opportunity to fight back, or do something, _anything_ useful.

She really hoped her team could manage some kind of nick-of-time rescue. Now would be a very good time to have SG-1 sneak or rampage their way into wherever-this-was.

SG-1 didn’t charge in, guns blazing, but neither was the snake making a beeline for any of the offered hosts.

In fact, it wasn’t doing much of anything. The goa’uld frowned down at it, then pointed at the row of captives. “Choose, and quickly. Apophis would speak to you.”

The snake turned from the hosted goa’uld to the captives and back again, then squeaked a long string of noises.

Sam’s neck was getting a crick in it from the odd angle it was in, but she wasn’t about to take her eyes off the Jaffa contingent or either of the snakes.

That meant she had a good view when the unhosted snake made a break for it. It didn’t go anywhere near Sam or the other potential hosts, instead, it started to zip off towards a wall. It looked like it was making a beeline towards the vent set into the bottom of the wall, maybe.

“Stop them!” the goa’uld yelled at the Jaffa. They pointed small hand-held objects at the snake trying to hightail away, and fired off smaller versions of the staff blasts.

Sam held her breath as the small snake zigged and zagged, but even it couldn’t escape the hail of fire. One shot tagged it, making it spasm and lock up. Another shot landed almost on top of it, and the hosted goa’uld knocked the Jaffa’s weapon away. “You fool! I said stop it, not kill it!”

“Yes, my lord,” the Jaffa said, eyes downcast.

There was no way it had been deliberate on the Jaffa’s part - reaction time could only be shortened so much, and berating the guy for following the precise orders the goa’uld had just moments ago issued was the sign of a bad commander. It was also typical of the unreasonable perfection the goa’uld demanded of their troops.

The goa’uld stalked towards the unhosted snake and picked it up. The angle as he walked towards the first human at the other end of the row from Sam made it difficult to keep him in sight, but she could see the limp snake being dropped onto a sobbing captive’s back.

The young man let out a horrified wail and Sam could just barely see him thrashing and squirming in fruitless terror.

She could also see the snake rearing up, still wobbly - or maybe that was just the man’s thrashing - and flaring out its fins. Its fangs opened, and Sam cursed silently.

The snake didn’t lunge forward. Instead, it tumbled off the captive, and the goa’uld snarled viciously as he lunged for the snake. The effects of the recent blast must not have worn off yet, because the goa’uld caught the snake easily.

“Jaffa, kree!” he ordered, gesturing dismissively at the first captive.

One Jaffa stepped forward and blasted the captive once, twice, three times.

Silence rang through the cargo bay as the man’s wails cut off into permanent silence. Sam felt herself go cold.

Either she would be a host or she would be dead.

“Choose, or the choice will be made for you,” the goa’uld said, dropping the snake on to the back of the captive next in line – the one right next to Sam.

This one whimpered instead of wailing, but the air of terror was the same.

The snake had reared up again, but this time it seemed frozen, unable to go forward or back.

Sam couldn’t pinpoint exactly what made her act. “Hey!” she called. Maybe it was the fact that the snake had tried to escape. Maybe she didn’t want to die yet. She wasn’t sure, and now was not the best time for introspection. "Over here!"

The snake’s head snapped towards her, and she met the beady little eyes with determination. “Yeah you, get over here.”

“Silence, slave!” the goa’uld strode over and slammed his hand down against her head, smacking her skull hard against the stone.

She thought she heard a loud squeak through the ringing in her ears, and when the stars cleared, there was a snake on the altar right in front of her face, still reared back, now hissing at the goa’uld. It took a moment for Sam to process this was real and not a hallucination brought on by a possible concussion.

“Lord Apophis’ forbearance is the only reason you yet live,” the goa'uld sneered at the defiant little snake.

It was a thin hope, but maybe ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ applied here. Well. Goa’uld – at least ally, if not friend. Sam gathered her courage and turned her head so that her forehead pressed against cool stone, her neck bared for the snake. Her stomach roiled and she fought to keep from tensing her muscles, because that would mean it was likely to hurt even more.

A rising churring noise sounded beside her, like a question.

She cracked one eye open and looked at the snake. “What are you waiting for?” she asked, confused.

The snake dipped its head towards her face, and Sam turned her head to press her forehead against the altar again.

Again the silence and the rising churr, this time with a note something like frustration. That, or Sam was projecting.

“You test our patience!” the goa'uld growled.

‘What patience?’ Sam thought but didn't say. “What's wrong?” she asked the snake instead, feeling both foolish and even more nauseated. The snake dipped its head, and before Sam could turn away, pressed its closed fangs against her forehead.

A weird sensation of frustration and sadness swept through her. In her mind there appeared an image, apropos of nothing: her, with her mouth open.

The snake drew back an inch, and let out a soft ‘weh’ noise.

Acting more on a hunch than logic, Sam opened her mouth.

Quick as a flash, the snake slid in. Sam held back the urge to bite down, even as her stomach turned again and a flash of pain hit the back of her throat.

‘Entry wound,’ a part of her noted mechanically. Dear god, SGC was only checking the back of the neck for entry wounds. If some goa’uld preferred to go in through the back of the _throat_....

A voice spoke inside her head. It wasn’t a child’s voice, but it sounded young, and male, and the language it spoke was completely and utterly unknown to Sam.

‘Well, shit.’

The goa’uld standing over her, whose name she still didn’t know, was having the Jaffa cut her loose, probably expecting Sam’s visitor to start pulling the strings.

Sam, still in complete control of herself, kept silent as she stood up, mind flipping through possibilities with a half-panicked disbelief. The snake wasn’t taking over. Despite everything they thought they knew about the goa’uld, her new passenger wasn’t doing _anything_. It looked like the ball was in Sam’s court.

Okay. She could work out the whys later. If this snake communicated through mental images.... She tried to project a mental picture of her eyes, only glowing, like a goa’uld’s.

Something prickled in her eyes, not quite an itch, and she set her expression in a heavy scowl. Time to do her best insulted goa’uld impersonation.


	8. Star Crossed 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam navigates the uncertain situation she finds herself in.

Sam strode down the hallway, imperious as a four-star general at a surprise inspection. One of Apep’s servants led the way, and her own two ‘servants’ trailed behind Sam. Behind them came two Serpent Guards – Sam wasn’t officially a prisoner, but she definitely wasn’t free to leave. Apep, the goa’uld who’d captured them, had dismissed Sam to ‘guest’ quarters for the night, after failing to get much useful information out of her.

There were several reasons for this. First, of course, was the fact that Apep hadn’t been speaking to the right person.  The System Lord’s inquiries had all been aimed at the goa’uld now hosted in Sam.  A goa’uld who still hadn’t done a single thing except make Sam’s eyes glow on command, and who Sam herself couldn’t communicate with very well, because they didn’t have a language in common.

It was the kind of FUBAR situation that SG1 excelled at finding, but usually getting out of it was a group effort.  She was sure, for instance, that Daniel would have been able to come up with some kind of appropriate name on the spot, if asked to impersonate a goa’uld.  When Apep had asked her, though, her mind had gone one hundred percent blank, and she’d coughed up the first idea that wandered into the barren landscape. Jack would tease her _mercilessly_ if – when – he found out she was calling herself ‘She-Ra.’

She could mostly follow what was being asked, but speaking was always more difficult than comprehension, and her vocabulary wasn’t complete by any means.  Apep had kept asking why she had no…something – she thought there was the word for foot, or maybe footprint, in there, but she had no idea what the the hell that was all about, so she’d talked around it as best she could without sounding like a bumbling imposter.

That was all apart from the fact that Sam had no desire to help Apep or the System Lords in any way, shape, or form. If they wanted intel from her new passenger, she’d do everything she could to obstruct them.  She was playing along for now, but only until an opportunity to escape presented itself.

Reaching the ‘guest’ chambers, Apep’s servant turned and motioned Sam forward as the door slid open. “Your quarters, Lord She-Ra.”

“You, and you, with me,” Sam flicked her hand at the two villagers she’d saved, then strode into her rooms.  The two Serpent Guards took up their stations outside the door, which Sam had been expecting – no easy escape that way. At least they weren’t stationed on the inside.

The door closed and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this, but I promise we will,” Sam spoke quickly to them. “I remember you’re Snef, right?” The young man nodded, wide-eyed and silent.  “And you’re…”

“Mahet, _Nefer Netjer_ ,” Mahet replied.  It took Sam a moment to parse the response. “Mahet” was the young woman’s name, but “Nefer Netjer” was a title that Mahet was giving to Sam. “Lord” was something that the goa’uld applied to each other, regardless of gender.  “Nefer” was “good,” and “netjer” was “god,” which meant that Mahet and probably Snef were both under the same misconception as Apep – they all thought that it was the new goa’uld they were speaking to.

‘They think I’m a god,’ Sam groaned internally. “I’m not-“  Sam started, then paused. Was it really worth it to get into the situation? The two of them seemed willing to follow her lead. It might be a ruse, but if it was then Mahet and Snef were both excellent actors. “Nevermind. Can you find the other servants and learn the-” damn, she didn’t know the word for layout, “learn where everything is?”

“Yes, Nefer Netjer,” they both answered, then bowed.

“Thank you,” Sam said, feeling awkward as they left.

That left one issue to deal with. “So, uh, my name’s actually Sam, not She-Ra.” Dead silence. “Hello?”

There was a wash of something that felt like guilt, or maybe shame. Sam had no chance to try and figure it out, because immediately after that the sensation of another person in her head vanished, and there was a small but sharp tap of pain at the back of her throat. Bringing her hands to her mouth by instinct, she managed to catch the goa’uld as it came slithering out. It was heavier than she expected, but she managed not to drop the alien, though it went tense and still in her grip, its fangs shut and its fins pinned back against its body.

It gave a small, muffled squeak and dipped its head.  The four eyes meant that whatever it did, it could keep her in view, but she got the distinct impression that it was trying not to meet her gaze.

‘He,’ Sam reminded herself, ‘not ‘it.’’ She placed the goa’uld down on a table, and he slithered immediately off her hands.

Well, now what? “Are you okay?” she asked with a frown. Except that he didn’t understand her because of the language barrier. She kneeled down so that she was face-to-face with him. There didn’t seem to be any physical injuries – no blood or bruising or visible broken bones.  It was kind of fascinating, actually, to get this good a look at a goa’uld.  Oh, she’d seen goa’uld larvae before, writhing little horrors that they were, and she’d seen adult goa’uld, but never this close or for this long.  Her ex-passenger was a kind of earthy orange, with fins the colour of old ivory, and his beady little eyes weren’t red, but a light blue.

Only then did it strike her that she wasn’t afraid. He’d done nothing to harm her, hadn’t once tried to take over control of her body. In fact, he hadn’t seemed interested in taking any host at all. Maybe he was from a different…clan? Tribe? Maybe his people didn’t take hosts?  But he’d known how, so it wasn’t a foreign concept to him. God, she had as many questions for him as Apep had had, and no way to ask them. The only form of communication they had was…

“Hey,” she said. When he raised his head, she put one finger almost to his fangs, then tapped her own forehead. “Can you do the thing again?”

It had to had to have been some kind of telepathic projection he’d done there at the beginning. Putting aside the sheer impossibility of that, it might be the only form of communication they had at the moment.

The goa’uld wavered a bit, then slowly extended his fanged snout towards her forehead. She could have pulled away if she’d wanted to, but she only waited patiently.

A feeling of cautious curiosity radiated into Sam.

‘Are you okay?’ she tried to project, but got only confusion in response. Pictures, right. She thought for a moment, then projected a cartoony picture of her ex-passenger, with a wound on his flank and a drop of red blood hanging from it. She sent worry with it, like an emotional question mark.

Startlement radiated back to her, then negation.  The same cartoony image came back to her, this time with no wound.

In some ways it was a more versatile form of communication than words, but she still had no way to ask the bulk of the questions she had.

The current theories floating around SGC about how a goa’uld possession worked leaned worryingly towards the aliens being able to lift information from a human brain wholesale. There wasn’t any way to test it, but given the length of time Kowalksy had been infested and how much that goa’uld had known, it was possible.  Once again, her ex-passenger seemed to have done nothing of the sort.

It was time to bite the bullet. Sam sent a cartoon image of herself and her snake, side by side. Then a second image, with the snake overlapping Sam where her throat and spine were.

There was a loud squawk, and the goa’uld jerked back from Sam.  He sounded a string of chirps and squeaks, accompanied by a flaring of his fins.  Sam waited until he’d finished. “I still can’t understand you,” she said, then tapped her forehead again. “Explain it to me?”

His gave a little sigh and drooped a bit, fins settling back, then he returned to his previous position, fangs pressed lightly to her forehead. A mental picture formed – no cartoon this time, but a bluish image, like some kind of hologram. A woman, not Sam, sat in front of a low table. A goa’uld slithered up to her. She picked it up and it entered through her mouth. A sense of approval and rightness accompanied the skit. Then, a second image. The same woman, shaking her head and looking distressed, waving her hands in front of her, as a goa’uld slithered towards her and made a leap towards her mouth.  Negation, came the emotional commentary. Negation, negation and shame. Then a third image. This time it was Sam sitting and waving her hands in front of her, looking distressed, and her ex-passenger who was leaping towards her. A sense of guilt and shame radiated from her snake.

“But I asked you to,” Sam blurted out. She frowned, trying to work through what her snake had shown her.  He thought he’d taken her against her will.  Okay, it was true that she hadn’t had much of a choice, but she’d been the one to call him over.  

Daniel always warned them not to make assumptions about other cultures based on their own, but Sam was pretty confident that the issue here was consent. It still took her about an hour – and a lot of mental images – before she was able to convince her snake that yes, she really did want to be his host again, and yes, she was willing. She hoped it wasn’t a long term gig she was signing up for, but going by some of their picture exchanges, she didn’t think so.

It was perhaps not the smartest move she’d ever made – she could probably continue the deception about being ‘Lord She-Ra’ without the goa’uld’s help, and he seemed even less familiar with the System Lords than Sam was.  On the other hand, if he was part of another, separate group of goa’uld, then it was possible that Earth could strike up some kind of alliance with them, and maybe, finally, get some kind of traction against the System Lords.

They were both exhausted, and Sam reluctantly admitted that nothing more was going to get done that night.  Well, maybe one thing.  One advantage of hosting the goa’uld was that they could communicate verbally, even if their languages were still incomprehensible to each other.  Fortunately, names were easy to figure out.  Her snake’s name was Obi-Wan.


	9. Star Crossed 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets rescued. And/or abducted again, she's not sure.

Sam was picking through breakfast by trial and error; meat was easily recognized, and she stuck mostly to that.  The maybe-candied-fruit had a sour aftertaste that might or might not be vitamin C, and it was all theoretically edible, but she didn't want to barrage her digestive system with unknown food.

Obi-Wan had been silent since she'd woken up, but muted impressions of his emotions let her know he was still there. As she finished the last of what looked like a small drumstick, those emotions became clearer, louder. Resolve radiated from her passenger, as well as nervousness. 'Sam.'

'Obi-Wan?' she returned with a feeling of curiosity. She'd been thinking about possible ways to escape, but nothing seemed especially promising. She didn’t know the layout of the ha'tak or the guard rotations. She didn’t have a good weapon and hadn’t been captured with her P-90, so it wasn’t lying around in the ha'tak somewhere.  While she was trained in hand to hand combat, taking on a Jaffa was an iffy proposition best left as a last resort.  Maybe her snake had an idea she’d missed?

A mental image formed of Sam kneeling in front of a low table, and Obi-Wan curled up on it, head raised. The Obi-Wan in the image let out a string of squeaks, and each time he did, a small, translucent, angular object would drift out of his mouth, something like a cross between a soap bubble and a snowflake.

The image of Obi-Wan fell silent, the cloud of translucent things staying above his head. The image of Sam started to speak, though not English. Every time she did, a small, translucent, oblong bubble drifted out of her mouth, making the same kind of cloud above her. The image of Obi-Wan blinked from the table to wrapped around Sam's spine, outlined in light so that he was still visible. Then he blinked back to the table. This time, when he 'spoke,' the floating soap bubbles were oblong, like Sam's.

The image stopped moving, and Obi-Wan radiated a short burst of inquisitiveness.

Understanding dawned. Obi-Wan was asking to be allowed to learn English from her mind. She froze. It looked like the theories about goa'uld being able to seize knowledge from a human mind were right. Fear and revulsion rose like bile in her throat, though she fought it back down again, trying for a more reasoned approach.

There was an immediate sense of acknowledgement and retreat from her snake, as Obi-Wan declined to push the issue.

Sam was still trying to figure out how she felt about any part of the offer, but the goa'uld's willingness to be told 'no' steadied her a bit.

Part of the problem was that Sam realized how much knowledge was involved in a language. Concepts and ideas didn't exist in isolation – would the goa'uld need to rifle through her memories in order to absorb English? How compromised would she be, from a military standpoint, if she allowed this? How could General Hammond ever afford to trust her again, if she went around airing all of SGC's secrets, even to a potential ally?

The only reason she wasn't freaking out, she admitted to herself, was Obi-Wan's immediate willingness to back down. Honestly, his emphasis yesterday on getting explicit permission had been...not annoying, but maybe a bit exasperating. Now, it was reassuring beyond measure, and judging from his past behavior, Obi-Wan had not and _would_ not trespass upon Sam's mind without her clear and willing consent. Reminding herself of that, she took a deep breath and brought herself back to an even keel.

 The door opening behind her interrupted Sam's thoughts, and she stood to face the servant who had shown her to her quarters last night. She squared her shoulders. Time for round two.

Apep was more insistent this time, starting to drop more overt threats of bodily harm and providing less offers of luxurious rewards for co-operation.  It didn't quite cross the line into interrogation, but the goa'uld was growing impatient. Sam held her haughty act as best she could, not sure what tack to take when she wasn't even sure what was being asked of her some of the time.

Several hours later, Apep finally let up.  He was frowning thunderously as he left, and Sam had the sinking feeling that her time was running out. She let herself be escorted back to her rooms, paying as much attention as she could to the layout of the ha'tak, but there was still nothing she could pin her hopes of escape on.

There hadn't been so much as a small explosion to indicate that SG1 might be in the area. Unless she could pull a miracle out of her ass, or Mahet and Snef came through big time, Sam was screwed.

Food waited for her on the table in her quarters, and she sighed as she slumped down into the chair. She wasn't hungry, not with her stomach tied up in knots the way it was, but she should keep her strength up.

Obi-Wan, who'd been a silent, supportive presence throughout the day, pulsed a wave of wary confusion, like a dog pricking its ears up. Sudden alarm spiked through Obi-Wan, making Sam bolt upright, but before she could turn, a small, cold object pressed against her spine between her shoulderblades.

"Shout, and you die," a quiet voice hissed in goa'uld.

"Who are you?" Sam asked, keeping her voice low.

"The one who's asking the questions, Lord She-Ra." Her assailant punctuated their sentence by jabbing the small object more firmly against her spine.

 _Goddamnit_ , Sam thought, even in the midst of whatever this was, _I'm_ never _going to live that down._

Time to take a risk. "I will not be-" Damn. There was a word for 'kidnapped,' but Sam couldn't think of it. "-stolen without even knowing your name."  If the attacker had meant to kill her, she'd be dead, right? That meant that she was worth more alive than dead. She glanced back over her shoulder, and a grim-faced woman looked back at her.

A moment of tense silent passed, while Sam sweated and Obi-Wan's presence flickered between anger and worry.

"Jolinar." The woman said, her voice going double-toned, and her eyes glowing white from inside. A goa'uld. "I am Jolinar of Malkshur. If you try to escape, I will kill you. Now move."

Sam grunted as she stumbled forward, making for the door. "The guards-"

"Will not be a problem."

The door opened on an empty corridor.

Jolinar pressed pointedly between Sam's shoulder blades again. Sam resisted for a moment, then moved forward.  Whoever this was, they weren't aligned with Apophis.  She wasn't sure if she and Obi-Wan were just going from the frying pan into the fire, but the decision had been taken out of her hands.

Moving through the corridors, Jolinar would stop or fall back to a previous junction and pick a different corridor, but Sam didn't get the feeling that the goa'uld was lost. Quite the opposite, really - this was someone who knew the terrain intimately, as well as the schedule of rounds and active versus quiet areas.

Sam felt bad about leaving Snef and Mahet here, but there wasn't anything she could do about it.

They managed to make it all the way to the 'gate, where three dead Jaffa lay sprawled beside the DHD.

The goa'uld punched in a quick set of coordinates, and shouts started to ring out from the ha'tak, but that was half a mile behind them, and the chance that anyone would reach them in time to stop them was negligible.

"Go," Jolinar snarled, keeping the weapon - one of the smaller, S-curved ones - pointed at Sam. Obi-Wan was a ball of trepidation in the back of her mind, and it felt almost like he was...bracing himself? For what? "Go!"

Sam went.

Stepping out of the event horizon on some other planet was something Sam had done dozens of times. She'd gotten the hang of it quickly, and it wasn't physical disorientation that made her almost cause a collision with Jolinar, who was coming in short on Sam's heels.

No, it was the absolute quiet in her head.

There was nothing. No emotions, no sense of someone looking over her shoulder, no voice in her head except her own.  For only having hosted Obi-Wan two days, she'd gotten used to his presence real quick. That wouldn't make Hammond happy. Or anyone in SG-1, if she had to guess.

"Move," Jolinar prompted her, using the weapon to steer Sam down to the local DHD, where she punched in another set of co-ordinates.

Had something happened to Obi-Wan? Was this what he'd been so worried about? If it was, Sam hoped it meant that Obi-Wan had expected to be...what? Knocked unconscious? Disconnected? Whatever had happened, he probably wasn't dead. Sam hoped.

On the other hand, it left Sam with about a billion questions. Why was a _goa'uld_ so affected by gate-travel? Jolinar seemed to have no such problem, nor any of the System Lords.

She wouldn't have had time to ask Obi-Wan, even if their connection had still been in place and they'd shared a language - Jolinar kept moving them through one gate after another, as if they were being...followed? Could the goa'uld track them, even through the stargates?  It was a disturbing thought.

What made it even worse was that Obi-Wan's presence stayed gone.  Sam was really starting to worry for him.

They stepped though a gate into high noon near a bustling town, then to the arctic chill of an icy plain with barely enough light to see in, and that Sam was absolutely not dressed for, to a damp forest, where they finally paused.

A cloaked figure melted out of the shadows.  "You got them?"

"I did," Jolinar nodded. "But Apep is surely swift on our heels."

"Then I will have him chasing ghosts. Hurry on."

Jolinar nodded and dialed again. Sam stood to one side, feeling a lot like furniture.

They gated out again, this time to a scrubland with a warm breeze under a starry sky.  Jolinar turned around and dialed _again_ and Sam had to boggle at the levels of paranoia she was seeing. Whoever these people were, they did _not_ want to be followed home, which implied a possible power imbalance between them and goa'uld like Apep.  Who exactly had she been kidnapped by?

This time they stepped out into a world with the sun riding low in the sky, sand-dunes and scrubby growth making rolling waves as far as Sam could see. Another waypoint?

She almost swallowed her tongue as several people popped up out of the sand, holding the small hand-held weapons and one or two energy staffs.

"You were successful in capturing Apep's prize," a young man said, eyes flitting between Jolinar and Sam.

"Yes. This is She-Ra, and as you can tell, Apep did not lie - she has no- " and _again_ the word Sam didn't quite know.

An older man stepped forward, weapon tucked away as if Sam were a guest and not a prize. "Welcome, Lord She-Ra. I am Cordesh, and we are the Tok'ra."


	10. Star Crossed 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam makes her choices, and enlists Obi-Wan's help

 Obi-Wan drifted back to consciousness.  He hurt everywhere, a pervasive ache accompanied by grogginess that left him feeling confused and disconnected.  The first emotion that spilled over from Seventeen was anxiety, which was a bit alarming considering that Seventeen almost never felt anxious.

 No, wait, this wasn't Seventeen, he remembered.

 That revelation didn't help Obi-Wan's state of mind at all - did Sam want him gone? Had he hurt her in some way?

 Crossing through the travel ring hurt like the blazes and left him frozen, locked in his own inert body for a short while after, but did multiple crossings affect him more?  He didn't think so, but- had he spasmed and hurt his host's spine? He'd stopped counting rings after the fourth one, agony driving him into oblivion soon after.  How long had he been unconscious?

 His own alarm must have communicated itself to Sam, because she sat up out of her slump abruptly, and a spike of relief rose in her.

 'Obi-Wan!'

 'Sam, are you okay? Do you want me to leave?'  he asked, but of course the only thing she'd understand was her name. Gods and stars this was frustrating.

 Sam send three mental images in short succession - a mental abbreviation of the images he'd used to ask to be allowed to learn her language.

 Startled, he tried to fight back the mental fog that still clung to him.  It seemed both too coincidental and too good to be true.   Why would she change her mind now, when her first refusal had been in nearly identical circumstances and very firm?

 He send a confused query her way, only to receive the same three images with a feeling of resolve and fear.

 ::Refusal,:: he sent back, then another burst of confusion.

 A roil of emotions spilled through Sam's connection to him, fear and trepidation and anger like a mental shout right in his ear.

 Reeling, he shrank back from the connection, on the verge of abandoning Sam's body altogether. As best they could communicate, she'd affirmed her willingness, but that didn't negate the fact that she'd had no real choice in the matter, and it didn't make Obi-Wan's continued presence any less of an intrusion.

 The roar of anger and fear cut off, Sam bringing her emotions to heel.  'Obi-Wan,' she said, then a feeling of request, almost pleading, and again the three mental images of learning her language, then another burst of pleading.

 From observing Sam over the past two days, Obi-Wan was willing to bet that she didn't panic easily, or over small matters. Something must have happened. Something dire, if it had made Sam change her mind so completely.

 Calming himself as much as he could, Obi-Wan released his fear in favour of rationality.  ::Agreement,:: he sent to his host. He waited a moment to see if Sam would change her mind, but she did not. Reaching out gently into her mind, Obi-Wan began the process.

* * *

 

It didn't hurt. Not too surprising - Sam was prepared for it to, but she thought Obi-Wan would have warned her, if it had.  She could tell that something was happening, it felt like memories were...rustling, just below the surface of her mind.  A few words flickered into her consciousness. 'Sun.' 'Apple.' 'Water.' 'Cat.' Clenching and unclenching her hands, she sat in the doorless room, urgency nipping at her heels as she waited.

How long would this take? It wasn't instantaneous, that was clear.  Was she making the right choice? No, this was too urgent, she had to have every advantage she could scrape together, and a helpful goa'uld - that she could communicate with - topped that list.

She didn't have a watch, but even compensating for the way every second felt like an hour, it must have been at least five or six minutes before there was the quiet sound of someone clearing their throat. 'Sam, I've finished.'

'Good. Obi-Wan-' but the goa'uld was still talking

'And I- I'm so, so terribly sorry for what I did, for my actions when me met. I know that doesn't make it better, and you have every right to demand restitution from me, for the horrible way I've trespassed-'

God, she'd been right about how young he sounded, even when the only words they'd understood had been each other's names. She didn't think of goa'uld as ever having been kids - probably none of SG1 did - but going by Obi-Wan's voice, he'd be in his late teens if he was human. The bare and honest emotion wasn't something Sam would expect out of a typical teenager, but she could feel the cringing shame, now with words to give it precision and context. 'Obi-Wan-'

 'If you want me to leave you need only tell me, and-'

 'Obi-Wan!'

 '-I... Yes?'

'Look. Thank you. And I really mean that. Thank you for the apology, and for saving my life. But right now, I have a really urgent problem, and I need to talk to you about it.'

 'What is it?' Obi-Wan asked.

She’d had a while to go over her explanation while she was waiting for Obi-Wan to regain consciousness, and it had been better than fretting about the possibility that he might have died. Inside her.  Now there was an idea that’d keep her up nights, ugh.

‘The people who captured both of us, the ones that tied me to that altar, those are goa’uld, like you, but they’re called System Lords. The woman who kidnapped us away from them is Jolinar. She’s part of a group called the Tok’ra, which opposes the System Lords.’  The discussion with the Tok’ra Council had been as informative as it had been frustrating.

‘So, two groups of Sith. This day just gets better and better,’ Obi-Wan muttered, sounding resigned.

‘The Tok’ra say they don’t take unwilling hosts, and in fact tried to convince ‘Lord She-Ra’ to consider taking a voluntary host, so,  I don’t know, they might be telling the truth?’ The wave of stunned incredulity radiating from Obi-Wan certainly told her what he thought of that. ‘Anyway. That’s not the emergency. What they told me – the reason everyone’s interested in us – in you – is that you don’t have a naquadah signature.’

‘A…what?’

No surprise that Obi-Wan didn’t know what that was. Sam hadn’t known either, and for all that Obi-Wan was the same species as the System Lords, he didn’t even speak goa’uld.  ‘It’s…it’s how goa’uld, at least these goa’uld sense each other. So every goa’uld can sense every other goa’uld. Being ‘invisible,’ like you, could be a huge advantage, so everyone wants to know you how you do it.’

‘I don’t ‘do’ anything,’ Obi-Wan squawked in protest.

‘Maybe not, but they think you do,’ Sam shrugged. ‘That’s why Apep – the first goa’uld – was so interested in you. And Apep works for a more powerful System Lord, called Apophis. So Apophis _should_ have been all over this.’

‘And the reason he wasn’t is…?’

Sam’s jaw clenched. ‘Because he’s coordinating an attack on my planet. He’s going to destroy my world and kill everyone on it.’

Shock radiated from Obi-Wan, but no disbelief.  ‘That’s- you have to warn them!’

‘The Tok’ra won’t let me leave!’ Sam almost shouted aloud, but kept her teeth clenched tight.  Who knew what kind of surveillance equipment was installed in the room, and that wasn’t even considering the fact that the Tok’ra didn’t believe in doors, because fuck privacy, apparently.

‘No. If they’re telling the truth, they probably don’t care about you. They care about _me_. So… So if I leave you, if I stay here, they’ll let you go home.’

Sam closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall.  If Obi-Wan hadn’t been wrapped around her spine, she would have hugged him. God, why couldn’t they have run into these goa’uld first? ‘Thanks for the offer, but they won’t let me go home even if you stay.’

‘But why not?’

‘The Tok’ra are a small guerrilla force, compared to the System Lords. They’re…very protective of their location.’

A snort. ‘Paranoid, you mean.’

Sam didn’t have the energy for banter. ‘Yes.’  A moment of silence, then she admitted. ‘And there’s another problem. Even if I could get to the stargate and dial home, my planet can close our stargate, and I don’t have the device I need to let them know to open it.’

‘Is there anyone else you can go to? Allies? Outposts?’

Her mind blanked for a moment, but she forced herself to think.  Allies? The Nox had buried their stargate, so they were out. The Crimmeans maybe? With Thor’s Hammer destroyed, she wouldn’t be zapped into the labyrinth, but if the Tok’ra came after them, then what? It was a bit of a hike to the village, and she’d be dragging the Crimmeans into things – if the Tok’ra didn’t like their existence to be known, what would they do to keep it secret? Chulak would probably be an even worse idea, and…  Maybe one of the empty worlds? SG-1 didn’t tend to go to those, but she knew one or two addresses.  If the Tok’ra could follow them from gate to gate somehow, it wouldn’t really do any good.  She rubbed a hand over eyes going scratchy from fatigue.

‘When was the last time you slept?’ Obi-Wan asked, a bit of worry coming across from him.

“Hng.” Sam mumbled, then remembered to keep the conversation internal. ‘I can’t sleep now.’

‘You’re exhausted,’ Obi-Wan said, half chiding and half dismayed.

‘I _can’t_ sleep now,’ Sam repeated.

‘I…  I could help?’ Obi-Wan said hesitantly. ‘Only if you wanted me to,’ he added quickly.

‘What kind of help?’ Sam swallowed down a twinge of unease. She had to get home. For that, she’d even make a deal with the devil, and Obi-Wan was no devil.

‘Lack of sleep builds up toxins in your system. I can clean a lot of that out. It’s not a good idea for me to keep on doing it – you’re going to have to sleep, and the sooner the better – but I can keep you awake and alert for a day or two longer.’

‘Do it.’

A feeling of assent flowed through their link. ‘Give me a moment,’  Obi-wan said, then fell silent.

Over the course of a few minutes, her mind cleared, and her eyes stopped wanting to close on their own.  It was a bit like coffee, but without the jittery side-effects. Sam took a deep breath, feeling energy start to flow through her again.

 ‘Another SG team.’

‘What?’

‘Sorry, I mean, I think I figured out how to get home.  There are other stargate teams, out in the field. I don’t know everyone’s schedule, but….SG-2 was on a two-week mission.’ Hope rose, then crashed. ‘Except I can’t remember the address. Damnit.’

‘Did you ever know it, or see it?’

‘I think so, why?’

‘If you want, there’s…there’s a memory meditation I can use to take you back to when you saw it. I know this is more intrusive than the toxin-flush-‘

‘Do it.’

‘Are you _sure_?’ Obi-Wan asked.

‘Yes.’ There wasn’t even any hesitation this time. She realized that Obi-Wan had, in the space of one conversation (and two days of pictionary) gone from ‘enemy of my enemy’ to ‘trusted ally and friend.’ Huh. Usually Colonel O’Neill and Daniel were the ones who latched on like that.

‘All right. And if you want me to stop, you need only say the word.’

‘I got it.’

‘Close your eyes and breathe in deep and steady, then out again. Keep doing that.’  Sam did so. ‘Now, calm your mind, like a still pool of water.’  Slowly, Sam complied.  The world seemed to fade, Obi-Wan a steady presence, closer than he’d ever felt before. ‘Think back to when you found out about the other team’s mission.’

The memory surfaced in bits and pieces. Talking to General Hammond. The Gate Control Room. Sgt. Siler reporting on the chevrons.  Ferretti waving from the Gate Room as SG-2 went up the ramp. ‘focus on the screen’ something murmured, and Sam turned her attention back to it. She’d seen it in passing, she knew she had.  There were the chevrons. Lined up in a column.  ‘don’t force it.’  She stopped trying to see more clearly, just let the memory replay again. And again. Like cleaning up interference, each time was sharper, the chevrons clearer.

There. She could see them now. All seven of them, as clear as if she were standing in front of the screen right that moment. ‘I have them!’

Opening her eyes, she found herself back in the Tok’ra base, crystalline wall behind her and thin mattress beneath her. “I _have_ them,” she said out loud, albeit softly. Someone walked past in the corridor outside, and she quickly schooled her face back to neutrality. ‘Thank you, Obi-Wan.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since this is an AU of Star to Steer By, some things did get tweaked a bit - going through the 'gate doesn't cause a Jedi to have a siezure, but it's very unpleasant and a Jedi is incapacitated for about ten to fifteen minutes after going through a gate. Repeated gatings can knock a Jedi unconscious. (So, basically, not as bad/dangerous an immediate reaction, but a longer knock-out time.
> 
> For canon SG1 timeline, Star Crossed happens about two or three episodes before the end of Season 1


	11. Star Crossed 5

Having the address for SG-2 was all well and good, but there were still several significant obstacles to overcome. First, they had to get to the stargate.  That wasn’t as easy as it sounded, given that Sam and Obi-Wan were trapped underground and had a guard who’d quickly alert everyone if Sam tried to make a break for it.  Another frustrating factor was the attack on Earth itself.  Sam only knew that Apophis was going to attack because it had come up in discussion with the Tok’ra Council; she didn’t know how much force Apophis would bring to bear or even when the attack would happen. 

Doing some quick thinking, Sam managed to wrangle another meeting with the Tok’ra Council, telling them that ‘She-Ra’ would consider their offer of a willing host, but even that wasn’t enough to get them to allow her up to the surface  for a breath of fresh air. She wavered between pushing the issue and backing down, not because she’d changed her mind, but because if she did keep pushing it, the Tok’ra Council might get suspicious and then she’d never get up to the surface.

‘Even I can’t take on _all_ of them,’ Obi-Wan murmured in her head.

Hoping she hadn’t shown her hand too much already, Sam nodded and asked to be shown back to her quarters.

‘Now what?’ she asked Obi-Wan, half rhetorically.

‘Sleep?’

‘ _Sleep?_ ’ she shot back, incredulous.

‘You’re tired, I’m tired, and we can’t fight our way out.  Being alert and rested can only help, whatever we decide to do, and maybe tomorrow they’ll let us up to the surface.’

Sam wished she had something to refute that with, but she didn’t. ‘…Damnit.’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything else.’

‘I can’t either,’ Sam admitted. ‘And I guess sleep would help. SG-2 should only be a week into their mission, we have a few days. I’m just worried about Apophis.’

‘Understandable,’ Obi-Wan said, a feeling of sympathy and solidarity radiating from him.

That surprised Sam a bit. ‘What about you? Don’t you want to go home?’

‘I-‘ a mix of emotions flashed over their connection.  Sam couldn’t really catch it all, but there was some sadness and a lot of determination.  ‘I do, yes,’ Obi-Wan admitted.  ‘But I don’t even-  And anyway, this is the immediate problem.’

‘It’s not _your_ problem, though,’ Sam felt compelled to point out.

Negation.  ‘The Sith _are_ my problem.  And even if they weren’t, it’s my duty to help where I can.’

‘What are ‘Sith’?’  He’d used that word before, hadn’t he?

‘Sorry. Goa’uld. Or. System Lords, I suppose.’

Sam nodded to their guard as they reached her room again, and made a beeline for the bed. With nothing to focus her attention on, fatigue was indeed catching up again.  ‘After this is done, we’ll help you get home,’ she promised.  She wasn’t sure she’d still have a job, but she’d settle for still having a planet.

‘Thank you, Sam.’

* * *

 

The next morning – or, at least, after they’d slept – Sam did feel better. She was also starving. “Is there anywhere to get food?” she asked the guard – a different one, this morning.

“Yes, there’s a-“ she used a word Sam didn’t know “-in the east section.”

Cafeteria? Kitchen?  She’d find out soon enough, Sam thought as she tried to commit the word to memory. “Take me there.”

The guard wavered, but apparently Sam wasn’t forbidden from being taken to the food area.  The woman nodded. “This way.”

‘What did you ask her?’ Obi-Wan asked while they were walking.

‘Huh? I asked if there was food. Didn’t you hear?’

‘Um. I don’t know the language.’

‘But, yesterday…’  Sam trailed off.

Negation. ‘You gave me permission to learn your language. That one is secondary, so I wasn’t sure it counted. I should have asked,’ Obi-Wan said, sounding chagrined.

Well, it wasn’t like letting Obi-Wan sponge a second language off her brain would compromise her more, in the eyes of SG Command. ‘It’s okay. Can you learn it now?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Go ahead and grab it then. I don’t know the whole language, so don’t be surprised if it’s not complete.’

‘Thank you.’

It was a cafeteria, of sorts.  The food came in square chunks that were stacked on platters.  Sam watched as two Tok’ra used a device on a separate table – something like a microwave, though it didn’t have a door – to turn the food into a pile of green stuff.  It smelled vaguely like broccoli with a sharp cheese mixed in, Sam found as she passed them.  Well, it was food.

Sam put a chunk of stuff on a plate and copied the Tok’ra, leaving her with a plate of hot food.  Sitting down and using a flat spoon/knife thing, she dug in.

Now that she’d had a good night’s sleep, Sam also had more attention to spare for her new passenger.  His said his ‘duty’ was to help, which raised so many questions.

‘How long have you been fighting the System Lords?’ she asked as she chewed.

‘Uh? Oh, um. That’s…not really…an applicable question? I mean, no, it is, but…it’s more complicated than that.  See, we fought the Sith – the System Lords – thousands of years ago, and we defeated them, wiped them out completely, down to the last Queen. Or we thought we had.  The Republic and the Order don’t even know about… _this_ ,’ Obi-Wan said, frustration obvious.   He have a sigh. ‘So, we _would_ be fighting them, if we knew about them, but we, er, don’t,’ Obi-Wan concluded.

Republic?  That sounded more democratic than Sam was used to, from the System Lords.  ‘So you don’t think of yourself as a god?’

There was what Sam could only describe as a mental choking noise from Obi-Wan. ‘No! Certainly not! That’s not allowed at all! We have some abilities that other people don’t, but we’re definitely not gods, and we’d get in trouble if we tried to pretend otherwise.’

‘Get in trouble with who? What does your group call itself, anyway?’

‘We’re the Jedi. We’re….we do a lot of things. We try to keep the peace, to serve justice, to ease suffering where we can.’

A bite of Sam’s food almost went down the wrong way, and she choked a bit, but waved off her guard, wheezing to get her breath back. ‘Are you telling me you’re goa’uld _cops_?’

‘We do other things too, if I have the definition right,’ Obi-Wan replied, an undertone of humour in his voice, ‘but there’s a lot of overlap, yes.  Our jurisdiction is a bit more expansive than a single planet or sector, though.’

Great, she had the goa’uld equivalent of an FBI agent sitting in her head.

‘And how do you pick your hosts?  I can’t imagine it’s much like how the System Lords go about it.’

‘You mean tying people to rocks and violating every ethical code of conduct in the galaxy?’ Obi-Wan asked rhetorically, a strong sense of frustration under the sarcasm.  ‘No, no we don’t.  For Jedi, potential hosts register with the Order, and then a Jedi meets with the three top candidates that are best matched to them, to determine which, if any, they want for their host.’

‘How do you determine if a host is a good match?’

‘Psychological and personality profiles, mostly.  A Jedi spends at least ten years with any given host; getting along is a necessity.’  Huh. Picky goa’uld.  That wasn’t unusual, but the criteria were.

‘Ten years?’

‘That’s the usual term. It’s often extended – I’ve been with Ta’raysh E’tad for over fifty years, but some Jedi do switch hosts every ten or twenty years.’

_Fifty_ -!  Sam boggled a bit, but she was dealing with aliens, she reminded herself. It was entirely possible that Obi-Wan was the goa’uld equivalent of nineteen or twenty, aging slower mentally as well as physically. ‘Wait, how do you ask their permission if you can’t talk to them until you’re hosted?’

‘Most things are agreed on beforehand.  Potential hosts have to be read through the terms and conditions of hosting, and if anything needs to be changed or negated, that’s usually done at that stage, although if the host changes their mind during the hosting period – it doesn’t happen often, but it has been known to – then the contract is amended to the satisfaction of both parties, or the Jedi leaves.’

‘A _contract_ ,’ Sam said, fascinated, ‘what kind of contract?’

‘Well,’ there was a sensation of busy-ness, as if Obi-Wan were rifling through a stack of papers, ‘A typical contract includes things like: If the host is injured outside of a mission, the Jedi will do their best to keep the host alive,’ Obi-Wan rattled off, clearly by rote and probably translating on the fly. ‘If a host is injured during a mission, it will be at the discretion of the Jedi whether to maintain the life of the host or to complete the mission, with the understanding that the mission takes priority over any one Republic agent. Do you accent these terms?  In-‘

‘What?’

‘-the event- Huh?’

‘You asked if I accepted those terms.’

‘Ah, sorry, that’s just part of the contract. Each term has to be agreed to. I didn’t think to leave it out.’

‘Oh.’ Before Sam could think of anything else to say, a tray was set down on the table beside her.

“Well, hello there.”

Sam looked up to see an elderly human woman in a simple smock.  It took Sam a moment to recognize her guest. “You’re from the Council!” she blurted out.

“In a way,” the woman said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “My name is Saroosh. Yesterday, you spoke with Selmak, my symbiote.”


End file.
